a liquid moon
by WhisperedSilvers
Summary: It's four in the morning and sometimes she wonders if this was fate. AU —Yona/Hak


**A Liquid Moon**

 **By: WhisperedSilvers**

 **Prompt: "I don't know how to express that being with someone so dangerous made me feel so safe."**

 **Summary: It's four in the morning and sometimes she wonders if this was fate. AU —Yona/Hak**

 **X**

* * *

She sits there, with a hand under her jaw and blurry eyes that can only see the bare images of what looked like streetlights.

"Here," Hak hands her a container of coffee; it has a dash of milk and barely any essence of vanilla. But it's warm, and it gives life to her fingers.

"Thanks," Yona answers back, her fingers enclose tightly around the paper carton, she sips the scalding liquid and doesn't flinch when it blisters her tongue.

The park is quiet, the benches are cold and the sun hasn't risen. The moon is still there, shining with a pale light, too pure and cool for her emotions. It's winter. Dark evergreens and small pinecones; a gentle blanket of frost, and, crisp, crisp air. The wool coat that Hak had tied earlier still tightens around her stomach and the hood covers her ears, but not her cheeks.

He points out absentmindedly, "You're quiet."

What an odd thing to say.

"I've been quiet all my life," She replies bitterly, her eyes are dark and silver—hard like lilacs in the fall. "Is a little more silence going to hurt me?"

Hak does not answer, but his fists tighten in her peripheral vision.

Yona does not know what to do—does not know what to say, breathe, think—anything. She feels so very helpless because the air in her lungs is thicker than the lack of humidity in the air.

If anything—she feels _bloodlust._

And it comes as shock, because never, had she ever, wanted to _destroy_ someone, as much as she wanted, than at that moment. It had run thick—thick in her veins, her blood searing, like a flame escaping the hearth, and as soon as she understood that—that _feeling,_ she felt numb.

Soo-Won had killed her father—not even a mere twenty-four hours ago. A political assassination, the ambassador of Kouka—a small island outside Japan, which did not make any sense, because he—her heart chips a little, and she inhales shakily; not now.

"Hak," Yona starts off with a bleak voice, "Why did you follow me?"

Hak is visibly startled at the question, "What kind of question is that?"

"Hak," She breathes, "Please."

He thinks for a moment, eyes bluer than the seas of her land, and his hair is almost soft enough to touch, he answers back almost naturally, the slight twitch in his hand indicating that, that would is still fresh and raw for him to come to terms with, "Because you're Princess Yona, and I'll follow you wherever you go."

The line is overused, and perhaps a bit cliché, but he's honest and earnest and it makes heat rise to her cheeks.

But he's lying; he has to be lying. She scowls as she turns away, "My father asked you to protect me."

There is a certain stillness in his voice that has the fine hair on the back of her neck stand on edge, but she still isn't looking at him, and she didn't want to confirm with her own eyes that there is something not right with that picture—that not even she, would turn around and look at it. "Is that what you think?"

Yona sips her coffee, it's bitter and hot—she thinks that it may taste like her, she shrugs, and "I was there when you took that oath."

Hak doesn't speak.

She didn't expect him to.

But she went on anyway, her words are harsh and void of emotion, because the grief that clouds her system shouldn't be as important as the future, "But he's dead, so you do not need to keep protecting me."

Strong fingers grab underneath her chin and parts of her jaw. She is yanked from her vision of the moon to face midnight blue orbs, and if she looks hard enough, she can see that streak of silver that glitter in them—like a blade, sharp and unyielding.

"Yona," Her heart leaps in her throat at the sound of her name, because Hak is so prim and proper, that it takes a miracle for him to speak her real name, "Don't be an idiot."

But then again, he is _Hak._

She sputters, "How am I an _idiot_? I'm just stating facts—!"

"Facts you don't know about. Facts that aren't true—facts that are actually lies." He spoke with a quiet anger that had her lungs shaking, Hak's anger is usually passive, contained—not violent and heart-shaking, but he held her by the chin, and she can see the hurt and the treason in his eyes.

Again, she spoke without thinking.

The last thing she wants is for Hak to get hurt—at her expense.

"Soo-Won took away everything important to me, I don't want him to take you away too." Yona admits gently, she tries not to flush at the sincerity in her words or the way Hak keeps looking at her—as if he could see every inch of her soul.

She is gentle—like a dove's wing.

His features gradually soften at the sound of her words, he is slightly stunned, but he fails to keep it out of his face, his eyes widen and his heart thumps a little too fast, and a little to hard. His hands begin to tremble, he places his coffee on the ground, and he cups her cheeks—pressing his forehead against hers, he closes his eyes.

Always gentle.

But she touches him without her hands, and that makes him fall in love with her— _again, and again, and again._

And she's saying _things_ —things that make him want smile and laugh and scream—because, its _Yona._

Yona's heart very nearly stops.

The moment is too intimate, too raw and she can feel things inside her that make her want to _break._

He inhales shakily, breathing roughly, his voice is husky when he speaks, "Do you know what I thought when I saw King Il's dead body on the ground? And I couldn't find you?"

She doesn't speak, but the slight widening in her eyes is enough of an answer for him.

"I begged for him not to take you away," Hak whispers, "I told him not to take you away. Away from me—anything _but_ that."

And suddenly she can't breathe.

Her heart isn't functioning, she can't think, and Hak's face is _too_ close to her's and she can smell him—his scent, she has to swallow hard because he smells like _home_. He's warm and she can feel him—! And it's _Hak_ , no one has ever been able to provoke such a reaction from her before—like pouring acid inside her, burning from the inside out, because he's so _sincere_ and she's can't—

"I don't know what I'd do without you."

And suddenly, this isn't about her father's oath, this isn't about her father at all—this is about _her_ and _him._

She is terrified, and she thinks she'll be terrified for a long time, but it's not like that with him.

 _It's never been like that with him._

Yona is so comfortable with him, so natural—like how it's supposed to be.

But he's making her feel things—things that could never compare to Soo-Won, because when she's with her cousin, it was sweet, like sugar and chirping birds. With Hak, she could feel sunshine, bright, warm sunshine and now, now it's like a fire, threatening to consume her soul, devour her heart and diminish her brain.

He is still holding her, like she's precious china and if he released her—she would shatter, and then she realizes she hasn't said anything.

"You won't leave no matter what I say, will you?" The acceptance in her tone and the slight twinge of carefree that mingles with her question destroys the intense tension and the stress leaves his shoulders.

Hak scoffs; she nearly rolls her eyes, because that's _her_ Hak, "Not even if you begged."

"You were begging not too long ago, Hak." Yona raises an eyebrow.

He squeezes her cheeks, "Don't tempt me, Princess."

 _Tempt me?_

She doesn't know _what_ he is saying, and she thinks morbidly that, that may not be a bad thing.

She places her coffee on the empty space of the bench beside her and Yona can't help but question quietly, "You won't regret staying with me?"

His thumb brushes the underneath of her cheek, he answers just as quietly, "Never."

And there's a certain honesty in his eyes that makes her want to smile.

He's like the sky—the blue, _blue_ , blue beautiful sapphire sky—he's always there.

 _He's always been there._

She leans up, confusing the man in front of her, she presses her lips to his forehead, and stays there for a few seconds before she lowers her head back down to look at him with kind eyes, a bit too vulnerable—but that's their thing.

They don't need a mask when it's just them.

There's a small dust of red on his cheeks, his eyes glitter with, awe, surprise and warmth and it's so _obvious_ that she wants to slap herself at her stupidity.

 _Hak._

 _It's always been Hak._

It's him—it's always been him.

"You will be bound to me, Son Hak. This is an inescapable contract, do you accept?" Yona speaks strongly, albeit teasingly, but her purple eyes show a hint of insecurity.

Hak crushes that feeling with a strength that can rival those of the Gods, "Yes." He breathes for a moment and then smirks, Yona's breath catches and he can see it, "I am under your command, Princess."

* * *

 _And that's all she wrote._

 _Please Review!_


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